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You know what you've done It’s the twelfth day and twelve-year-old Robbie still hadn’t acknowledged why he was back in nappies. ~~~~ He’d woken up on that first day of Summer Break hoping for an exciting time with all his mates only to be greeted by his father looking grim and holding a bundle of stuff in his hand. “Okay Robert,” his dad was not angry but never one to brook too much nonsense. Standing at six feet tall and having a fairly muscular physique from his job as a builder he looked most imposing. “School may be over but you’ve got a lot to learn so... it’s back into nappies for you. Go and get a shower and come straight back and I’ll see to you.” Robbie bristled at the idea, as if he’d let that happen. Besides, what could he have possibly done to be returned to wearing a nappy? It had to be a joke, right? Perhaps he was dreaming and had yet to wake up properly because this was just silly. However, why would he be dreaming of such a thing it...? He found his voice when he realised this wasn’t a dream at all. “But dad... WHY... I haven’t wet the bed or anything?” Robbie grinned but looked suspiciously at what was in his father’s hands. “Why don’t you think about the ‘why’ whilst having a shower, but don’t take too long.” Dad indicated for him to get up and get moving. “Dad this isn’t going to happen, I’m not a kid and you can’t make me... I’m not a bloody baby,” he added insolently. “Strike one, our little boy thinks he can swear with impunity...” Robbie had no idea what that word meant, “but he’s going to find that there are loads of things he thought... but thought wrong. Now, do as you’re told because this is going to be your underwear until we decide otherwise.” “I don’t think so...” The cocksure defiance was there but he was wondering... “There you go again, thinking and has been recently discovered... not your best feature Robbie. Because of all the things you’ve been up to over the past few months, thinking no one would get to know about, have come home to roost. Don’t think for a second you’re getting out of this because sonny, you aren’t.” The seriousness and directness of his dad’s words made him uncertain. Unsure of what a twelve-year-old could do but, and this is what mattered, he was twelve years old and therefore had... oh... but... There was also that guilt... what exactly was it they knew about that would bring about such a weird punishment? “Shower... now.” Dad pointed towards the bathroom. “But dad...” Robbie reluctantly did as he was told, easing his four feet six inch body from under the warm covers and then padding hesitantly to the bathroom in his creased t-shirt and boxers’ sensing it wasn’t the time to argue. Although slightly smaller than the others he was confident - he was after all in the school’s first eleven football team, and more recently mixing with his new tough friends, thought himself a toughie. However, when called out like this his swagger and self-confidence dropped. He needed more information and time to corral his excuses and arguments. ~ All through showering he wondered what dad knew he’d done. His grades weren’t too bad, granted there was always room for improvement. Although the Headmaster’s final comments on his end of term report card said that he ‘...didn’t try and easily distracted. A noticeable decline in ability and respect’ also didn’t help. He couldn’t remember being rude or cheeky to his parents but of course such occasions are done without much thought. He and his mates hadn’t been caught doing anything that might be regarded as foolish or criminal (although that hadn’t stopped them from doing such stuff). Mind you, he didn’t want a complete investigation into what he and those mates had been up to, that would open a huge can of worms. Then there was one ‘biggie’ which he knew they better not know about otherwise his life would be ruined - and he wasn’t sure if that was an over or understatement. Was there a difference between being cheeky and downright disrespectful? To a lad his age it was all part of growing up and having opinions, attitude and actions that might not correspond to what others might agree as normal. He wasn’t that bothered what anyone else thought... only himself... and his mate’s. The ‘biggie’ was BIG and it weighed heavily now his parent’s said they knew what he’d been up to. His mates had said that no one would ever know so it was just between them but still, as he showered, the guilt cut through his body like a cold, cold knife. ~ Recently at school he’d been hanging around with a little gang who were dangerously close to being young hoodlums and whom he was desperate to impress. He’d somehow found himself in with this particular ‘in’ crowd with ‘attitude’ and liked the infamy by association that went with it. He adopted quite a bit of their style – the way they dressed, the way they spoke, the off-handedness in any conversation. They were lippy, disrespectful, rebellious and took anything not nailed down (and a few things that were). He didn’t come from their rough, tough background so had a lot to prove to fit in. So far, he thought he had but now his parents had pulled him up, he wasn’t so certain it had been that good a move. Although in their company Robbie saw himself as a rebel, and someone who thought for himself, the hardened, uncaring streak that his new mates possessed really wasn’t part of his character. In fact, despite his attempts at ‘fitting in’ with his new ‘friends’, it was safe to say that none of what they’d done sat easily on his conscience so more or less knew that eventually he’d be brought to book. But what specifically was it his dad knew and what was it that made him think in terms of ‘nappies’ as a penalty? Under the warm plumes of water, he chuntered to himself on how he would never wear a nappy, nor would he let his father fulfil his threat. Despite his absolute intention of not giving in he felt an unease creep into his head -something he’d never felt before. Well, it had but his mates told him to “...forget it ever happened” but it was a hard secret to keep. That secret, that thing, only he and ‘the gang’ knew about and which they’d laughed off as “...a great stunt” was hanging heavily but he dare not confess to it... ever. He was at a loss to know why his father would want to impose such a juvenile punishment – one that had been threatened but never pursued before. Well, not exactly being put back into nappies but not able to go anywhere, have an early curfew or allowance stopped. All these penalties had been threatened in the past but never applied. So why now AND what had caused this dramatic shift that his dad intended to carry it out? What the HELL did dad know? Well, he decided, whatever he knew, or thought he knew, he wasn’t going to wear a nappy and there was nothing dad could do to make him. Of that he was certain. ~ Returning from the bathroom drying himself but confused as to why there was so much stuff spread out on his bed and why had his t-shirt and shorts he’d just slept in disappeared whilst he took the shower? Not only that but the very serious look on his father’s face indicated that any further argument could well be a huge mistake. Still, he’d decided, he certainly wasn’t going to wear a nappy and that was final. After all he was twelve, and twelve year-olds don’t wear nappies. He may be a little smaller than some his age but on the football pitch he was a little terrier and one of the best players. He was fairly good-looking (or so his mum thought) with longish brown hair and brown eyes. Despite his veneer of confidence he approached his father with more than a little trepidation. He noticed the thick fabric squares (more than one) which was a bit scary, the clear plastic pants like those he remembered his toddler cousin used to wear when visiting (he didn’t remember the days as a child he also used to wear them). Additionally, arranged on his dresser were a large canister of baby powder and several tubs of ointment. This was not looking like a simple threat, but he was adamant - no nappies. “Dad, what is it I’m supposed to have done?” He implored as innocently as possible, though dreading his father knowing some of the things he (and his mates) had been up to. “‘Supposed to have done’ ah! Acting innocent, eh? Well, that won’t work.” His dad fluffed out one of the large squares of white fabric and began to fold it. “Dad this isn’t fair, if I don’t know what I’ve done I can’t...” “Oh Robbie, Robbie, Robbie... I think you know only too well why this is happening and you’ve no one but yourself to blame.” Robbie mentally tallied some of those things and then physically shivered at the more ‘suspect’ offences, wondering if those were also what his father now knew about. However, he figured, if he knew about all of them, and the big one, he doubted if having to wear a nappy for a couple of days would be his punishment it would be much worse. Not knowing was making him less sure and put him at a huge disadvantage. He began to feel vulnerable, especially as his dad was looking more and more determined. “Dad this isn’t fair,” he was being as firm as he could, “I’m too old to wear a nappy and I’m not going to.” At least he was confident about that. “Really,” his dad looked a bit more than pissed off at his son’s denial, “well we can visit other, more embarrassing, public punishments if you wish. I don’t think you’ll like them, and, in the end, you’d still end up wearing a nappy... but if you insist.” The nappy was now folded, and his father indicated for him to lie out. “It’s up to you Robert, last chance, this now or something less easy, well for you anyway...” He’d never felt intimidated by his father before but there was something in his attitude that implied ‘mess with me at your peril’. He tried to ignore it but the thing was... a guilty conscience (in fact a very guilty conscience) was getting the better of Robbie - he was uncertain. He knew he should be making a huge scene and storming off or swearing like his mates and demanding the independence any twelve-year-old deserved and to stop being treated as a child. But he was caught off-guard - what might be ‘less easy?’ but when he thought about it, he and the gang had done some terrible stuff. The threat got the boy’s attention. His mind was full of appalling possibilities. He’d heard that some of his new friend’s parents weren’t afraid to take a belt to their wayward offspring and the idea of having a fiercely whipped arse had no appeal whatsoever. He dreaded pain, the few times growing up he’d been physically hurt made sure he stayed away from any confrontation where violence might happen. Even being in the gang he always maintained a distance between them and him... just in case. However, his mind conjured up a terrible situation. THWACK! (it was as if he could feel it) on his vulnerable bottom scared the hell out of him, not that his parents had ever said they’d do such a thing BUT, as his father was hinting, there’d be worse – public punishments - so that possibility flitted into his head and fuelled his worst case scenario. Some of the gang had intimated that physical punishment was almost a daily occurrence in their household and no amount of anti-smacking laws would change their parent’s attitude to discipline, even if it didn’t work. One lad had told him quite openly that his father had taken the belt to him after a visit from the police and he had to sit painfully at the dinner table on a hard chair as the family ate their meal. He’d shrugged when his mates told him what his dad had done was illegal, his reply, so was what he’d done so...? ~ Thoughts of rebellion, of simply refusing, of acting out and not giving a damn rippled through his mind. He was twelve and, as he kept saying to himself, twelve-year-old's do NOT wear nappies or get put in them either. This hadn’t happened to any of his friends, so he was certain it wasn’t going to happen to him. But a chilling other thought entered his head – what if it happened to his mates all the time, except, he didn’t know about it? ‘THWACK’ that thought triggered a fear he didn’t know he had. A catalogue of harsh and terrible punishments filled his brain and made him shudder in indecision. How could he rebel or even argue if that kind of violence was delivered to his bare bottom. What if, once delivered it became a regular event? What if...? However, he was sure if any of his mates had suffered from any embarrassing punishments he’d know about it. BUT, what if, they were so ashamed it was something no one ever talked about? Being strapped was something you could talk about but being forced to wear a nappy, well, that was just too weird and embarrassing. What if there were loads of kids, teenage kids, being made to wear some form of padding as an alternative to receiving a beating and it was simply something that no one ever spoke about? It was as if some strange influence had got into his head and all he could mentally experience was the pain that people were inflicting on him. In his imagination it wasn’t just his parents, in fact they were not to be seen, but stranger after stranger piling in and walloping him for having done what he’d done. Aarrggg, it was all too much. Robbie needed to get rid of these scary thoughts, but how? ~ His recent truculent nature was suddenly suffering from uncertainty and for the first time in quite some time Robbie was at a loss of what to do. He knew he should be making a scene, denying everything, call his parent’s names and swear the house down, except he didn’t, he was conflicted. The part that knew he’d done wrong, even if he wasn’t sure which ‘wrong’ they knew about - was edging over the part demanding he fight back. Basically, he was a good boy gone rogue, but now he was held to account, the roguish element was undeniably slipping away. What if... yes, again, what if...? The idea that there was a secret world of punishment going on where everyone involved was so ashamed of mentioning it - it had become THE way of dealing with disrespectful, out-of-control and threatening youths. Although this thought didn’t make much sense it was now imbedded in his brain and had somehow settled as an actual punishment that happened, and worse still, happen to him. Psychologically he could see the swish of the belt through the air and the sickening ‘THWACK’ as it met its target. He could hear his screams; he could feel his pain - he definitely didn’t want that to happen to him. But would a nappy be better than the strap? Would it be more effective than actual physical punishment? He was sure no kid his age would admit to such a thing... thus ensuring the secret would remain just that... a secret. He trembled at the thought, the revolt, was this something he’d be able to rebel against? His parents were ‘nice’ people, surely, they wouldn’t want to embarrass him but still, if they not only insisted but the penalties for not doing so were worse, would it then be the secret all threatened teens kept... including him? SWISH, THWACK - “Ooooowwwww” His desperate cry of sudden and direct pain may have been bouncing about in his head, but the reality now seemed an option. He was nervously sweating - not just at this possibility but the ensuing probability. ~ Robert stood there thinking just what he had done and dad knew about that he could apologise for and escape this ridiculous childish sentence. For the first time ever he felt intimidated by his father. He was in comparison quite small for his age but until that moment had never thought about it. However, at that moment, he felt tiny and timid. He tried to continue to dry himself to delay whatever was about to happen. Try as he might he couldn’t think of anything, well anything he would openly confess to. There was ‘cheeking’ Mrs Oldershaw. There was a chance he knew about bunking off the last couple of periods at school but thought that wasn’t much of a crime. His part in a bit of schoolboy bullying, which didn’t sit well with him but nonetheless he’d been there. Then of course it was possible that the incident in the shop in town might have reached dad’s ears. That was where he and his mates wandered in and whilst the cashier was kept busy, he and a chum helped themselves to various snacks and booze (and this hadn’t been the first time or the first shop to receive the gang’s attention). However, he’d never admit to that, unless they had CCTV and could prove it. When he thought about it there were quite a number of ‘little’ things that his father could be angry about but until he had a better idea perhaps wearing a nappy for a day or two might be the easiest way out of whatever trouble he was in. The main thing was, as long as they didn’t know about his serious ‘crime’, which he hoped to take to the grave, then all might just be forgotten. He suddenly decided it was a no-brainer, if he was going to be punished harshly AND still end up wearing a nappy, then he might as well jump straight to that and avoid any painful attention. “Okay,” seeing this as a possible way out he reluctantly agreed. “Very sensible, now, let’s get these on you,” he held up the white fabric triangle, “and then the... hmmmm... on second thoughts... Claire... can you come in here please?” “Yes dear,” his wife appeared at the bedroom door carrying what looked like a supply of new towels. Robbie was confused as to why mum would be just hanging around his bedroom like that. “Do I need to put extra padding in?” Dad looked a little confused at the extra items that were next to the fabric squares on the bed. “Of course love, but don’t forget the barrier cream first, make it thick and sure it’s spread everywhere, we don’t want our Robbie to get a rash now do we?” She smiled benevolently at her son. “Yes, well I had that covered...” her hubby said a bit annoyed because he hadn’t asked for that instruction. Robbie lay there, towel in hand and all but naked wondering why they were arguing over this but of course they weren’t. This was more ‘theatre’ for his benefit. They were making sure he knew this was a huge deal that they were taking seriously. So, although he was being punished for his misdemeanours, they were still going to take good care of him. Mum busied herself clearing out his underwear drawer, bagging up underpants, boxers and trunks and replacing those items with this fresh ‘laundry’. She then dug deep into another bag and pushed unopened packs of plastic pants in beside the pile of new fleecy terry nappies. Finally, she pulled nappy pins from her pocket and left them in a little dish next to the baby powder. Her boy was going to be well-cared for, the pins had white plastic ducky safety covers. She then looked on in a supervisory capacity as hubby started the nappying process. Meanwhile, a nervous and confused Robbie turned beet red under scrutiny from both parents. It was scary that they seemed to think this was perfectly acceptable behaviour. “You’ll need to use a booster pad and nappy liner before you pin it all together, it will make cleaning him up after any little accidents that much easier.” Claire added as she passed her hubby the items and a couple of safety pins. “WHAT?” Robbie all but screamed and clamping a hand over his naked genitals. “What, what?” his dad replied as he smacked his hand away, whilst inserting the things his wife had just suggested and pulling the multi-layered fabric up between the boy’s legs. “I’m not going to shit in a nappy... I... errrrr....” His dad gave him a second quick slap to his naked thigh “Language Robert, I’ll not tell you again.” Although the slaps didn’t hurt there seemed to be a warning that had to be taken seriously. Was this just the start of a much more violent regime? It scared him to think that might be the case. However, the material felt really thick as it was pulled up and left him unsure if he’d be able to cope with such an item wrapped around his genitals. Despite a half-hearted struggle dad pinned the thick, soft fabric tightly around his son’s wriggling waist. “Dad please,” he begged, “I can’t be seen wearing a nappy I’m a grown...” “Of course, you can sweetheart” Mum intervened as she saw the first tears begin to form in the corner of his eyes. “You’ll be wearing one from now on or until we see a huge improvement in your behaviour and an actual understanding of what you’ve been up to... and more especially... why we think this is necessary.” Her smile was benign but firm as she admired her hubby’s work. Her voice was soothing even if the message was chilling. Meanwhile, she flapped out a pair of smooth, clear plastic pants. ~ Mr and Mrs Davison had decided that their only son Robert (Robbie) was at an age where hormones and attitude kick in. They knew he was becoming, well, a teenager, but there’d been a very noticeable deterioration in his behaviour both at home and in school for almost a year. They knew he was part of a group that had been ‘disruptive’ in class and no doubt had been equally annoying at all other times. They suspected he’d been up to all manner of stupid, possibly illicit and undoubtedly antisocial activities... even if they didn’t know exactly what all of them were. Twelve years old and at that age, when a firm hand can be easily swatted away, where a parent’s authority has begun to diminish greatly and a time where his friends and what they say (and incite) matter more than anything else, meant something needed to be done. It is most parents worry that their offspring might go down a road of wrong choices: criminal, anti-social or any manner of other unacceptable activities. Thomas and Claire Davison were determined that if they got in first, made him guilty about what he thought they might know, then they stood a chance of keeping their son as they wanted him. “Keep him guessing,” that had been the idea, to not agree or disclose exactly what it was they knew. That way, and hoping they knew their son, he’d be on the defensive, anxious and, they hoped, so unsettled that he would comply, albeit reluctantly, to their decisions. Up until relatively recently Robert had always been a good boy, not perfect, but good. However, reports from school, neighbours and homelife (attitude) had seen a complete turnabout that had made him become – unpleasant. This was a side that Claire in particular didn’t want to see develop, so, with the agreement of hubby, set about coming up with something that would change him back to the likeable little scamp he used to be. Of course, they ran the risk that whatever they said or did might rebound but thought, for the sake of their only son, they had to try. Although they’d planned their action, it was still an ad hoc situation as they didn’t know what reaction they’d get. They had no idea that the spontaneous threat of ‘something worse’ had already had such an effect so he was at present cowed and scared of speaking up too much. As their action continued Robert’s worry about this warning and what he had done became a bonus (although they were unaware of it), to keep him where they wanted him - nervous of terrible (but undisclosed) retribution. Once the course of action was decided, they hoped that guilt, terror of discovery and an agenda where all choices were made for him (but in a caring, loving way) made his involvement unequivocal. Any time he questioned them about why they were doing this they simply put it back to him that he knew why and until he recognised and admitted his own complicity in this punishment then the penalty would continue. This was infuriating for him because he had no idea exactly what it all meant apart from the fact, he would be wearing a nappy for a while. How or why taking him back to wearing a nappy had come up in discussions neither was sure. Maybe Claire had read an article about kids not acting their age and this had been deemed a suitable punishment. However, even if she hadn’t read about such a reaction, she fondly remembered those happy nappy times when he was a toddler, that idea stuck so thought it worth a try. They also believed that by being supportive of his nappy wearing, just as they were when a child, and praising him each time he used it, they could convince him it was less of a punishment and simply a reminder. ~ Mastigophobia: irrational fear of punishment. No one knew the word, no one knew where this sensible phobia had come from, but it had taken up residency in Robbie’s subconscious. The nappy, though appalling for a lad his age, was at least bearable... well maybe. ~ tbc ~

Author's Note Hi! I'm Nicky, and I'm thrilled to join the Daily Diapers Community. Writing has been a passion of mine for many years, and over time, I've created numerous drafts and story ideas on ABDL that I've kept to myself—until now. I finally gathered the courage to share something, and I truly hope you enjoy it. I'm looking forward to connecting with fellow ABDL here. 😊 ____________________________________________________________________________ The Web of Lies is a psychological thriller about trust, manipulation, and the slow unraveling of a seemingly perfect life. Alan, a confident and successful man in his 40s, begins to notice strange things happening—small accidents, unexpected loss of control, and concerns raised by his wife, Lisa, about his health. At first, they seem like minor worries, but they slowly grow into a pattern that makes Alan question himself and his ability to stay dry. The story explores how care can become control and how easy it is to doubt your own reality when someone you love plants those doubts. This is a story about the power of suggestion and how even the strongest minds can be tested when trust is twisted. It’s a gripping tale that will keep readers guessing at every turn. Enjoy! 🙃 P.S Comments are much appreciated! ____________________________________________________________________________ Chapter 1: The Waiting Room Alan sat on a stiff leather chair in the pristine waiting room of Dr. Hargrove’s office. The walls were painted a muted, calming gray, adorned with abstract art that didn’t quite command attention. The faint hum of the air conditioning filled the silence, occasionally interrupted by the muted voices of the receptionist on the phone or the shuffle of a patient’s feet down the hallway. Across the room, a small fountain gurgled softly, its soothing sound doing little to ease Alan’s tension. The clock on the wall ticked steadily, each second dragging on longer than the last. Alan glanced at his watch, its familiar face offering no comfort, and then at the closed door leading to the doctor’s office. His knee bounced anxiously, a nervous rhythm that betrayed the calm façade he tried to maintain. He wasn’t supposed to be here, he thought. This wasn’t his life. His world revolved around work deadlines, weekend barbecues, and the occasional round of golf. He was the guy everyone called when they needed a laugh or a drinking buddy, not the one sitting outside a doctor’s office, waiting to hear about someone else’s medical troubles. Yet here he was, summoned by Lisa’s concerned tone and Alan’s unspoken distress. Alan leaned back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest as his gaze wandered over the room. He noticed the small details now, the way his mind always did when he was trying to distract himself: the slight scuff on the baseboard near the door, the stack of outdated magazines on the low glass coffee table, the faint smell of antiseptic that lingered beneath the air conditioning. He let his eyes close for a moment, trying to make sense of it all. How did it come to this? Alan, his best friend, had always been the confident one—the guy who seemed to have everything together. Yet over the past two months, something had shifted. Alan couldn’t pinpoint when it started, but looking back, the signs were there. One memory led to another, each connected like a breadcrumb trail. And it all started two months ago, on that seemingly perfect morning. *Flashback* The day had started peacefully. Sunlight filtered through the tall windows of their modern kitchen, illuminating the marble countertops and the gleaming stainless-steel appliances. Alan sat at the breakfast table, his coffee steaming beside him as he scrolled through his phone. His focus was split between work emails and the calendar notification reminding him of his packed schedule. It was the kind of morning that felt routine, unremarkable—until Lisa called his name. “Alan,” her voice came from the laundry room, gentle but carrying an edge of something he couldn’t quite place. He barely looked up. “Yeah?” “Can you come here for a second?” she asked, her tone shifting slightly—soft, yet insistent. Alan sighed, setting his phone down as he stood. He walked to the laundry room, where Lisa stood by the counter, her blonde hair neatly tied back, the faint scent of her citrus shampoo filling the air. She was holding something in her hand, her fingers pinching the edges delicately, like it might fall apart. “These were in the laundry,” she said, lifting a pair of his white briefs for him to see. Alan froze mid-step, his eyes narrowing. “What about them?” Lisa hesitated, her expression a careful mix of concern and discomfort. She tilted the briefs toward him. “There’s… a stain.” Alan moved closer, his heart skipping a beat as he saw what she was pointing to. A faint yellowish blotch marred the otherwise pristine fabric, spreading in the center like an unwelcome accusation. His face flushed. “That can’t be mine.” Lisa tilted her head slightly, her soft blue eyes locking onto his. “Alan, it was in your side of the hamper.” “Well, I didn’t do that,” he snapped, snatching the briefs from her hand and holding them up as though examining them closer might make the stain disappear. “It’s probably detergent or something. Maybe it didn’t rinse properly.” Lisa’s expression didn’t change. If anything, her concern seemed to deepen. “Maybe,” she said slowly, her tone calm and measured. “But it doesn’t look like detergent to me.” Alan tossed the briefs onto the counter, feeling his frustration mount. “I would know if something like that happened, Lisa. This is ridiculous.” She placed a gentle hand on his arm, her touch light but steady. “Alan, I know this is uncomfortable to talk about, but things like this happen sometimes. Especially if you’ve been under stress.” “I’m not under stress,” he said sharply, pulling his arm away. “I don’t have—whatever it is you’re implying.” Lisa blinked, stepping back slightly as though his reaction had startled her. “I’m not implying anything. I’m just saying, if something’s going on, it’s better to catch it early. That’s all.” Alan stared at her, his mind racing. Was she serious? Did she actually think…? He shook his head, grabbing the briefs again and tossing them into the laundry basket. “There’s nothing going on. It’s just a stain, okay? End of story.” Lisa nodded slowly, her lips pressing into a thin line. “Okay,” she said softly, her voice almost apologetic. “I just don’t want you to feel embarrassed if it happens again.” “It’s not going to happen again because it didn’t happen in the first place,” Alan muttered, storming out of the laundry room and back to the kitchen. As he sat down at the table, Alan’s thoughts churned. He picked up his coffee but didn’t drink it, staring instead at the swirling steam. Lisa’s voice echoed in his mind. Stress. Things like this happen sometimes. It didn’t make sense. He was healthy, active. Sure, work was demanding, but it wasn’t like he was losing sleep over it. Wasn’t he? He shook his head, trying to push the thought away. Lisa was probably just overreacting. She worked in healthcare, after all. Nurses were trained to see problems even where there weren’t any, always looking for signs of trouble. That’s all this was, he told himself—Lisa being overly cautious. Nothing more. Lisa watched him from the doorway, her arms folded loosely across her chest. Her face betrayed no emotion, but inside, she was already thinking ahead. The first step was always the most delicate, but it had gone exactly as she’d hoped. A little stain, a little concern, just enough to make him doubt himself. She could tell by the way he stormed out that she’d struck a nerve. Her lips curved into a faint smile as she turned back to the laundry, picking up the briefs again and tossing them into the wash. It wasn’t about the stain itself—it never was. It was about planting the seed, a tiny whisper in his mind that something might be wrong. All she had to do now was water it. *End of Flashback* Alan leaned forward in his seat in the waiting room, staring at the floor tiles as memories rolled through his mind like a film on loop. His knee bounced restlessly, a steady rhythm that betrayed the calm he tried to project. His hand drifted to the edge of the chair, gripping it tightly as he recalled the golf course incident—an otherwise normal day that had spiraled into something else entirely. *Flashback* The sun was warm on his back, the breeze cool and refreshing as it rustled through the trees lining the course. Alan had always loved golfing with Poll. It was one of the few places where he could unwind, leave behind the endless emails and meetings that occupied his weekdays, and simply exist. That day had been no different—or at least, it hadn’t started out that way. “Two strokes ahead already?” Poll said, shaking his head as he set down his club. “You’re showing off, man. Stop making me look bad.” Alan laughed, adjusting his cap as they walked to the next hole. “Maybe you need to practice more instead of blaming me.” Poll groaned theatrically, grabbing his iced tea from the cart and taking a long sip. “Practice? That’s for people who don’t have natural talent.” Alan smirked, lining up his shot. He took a deep breath, grounding himself in the rhythm of the game, and swung. The satisfying crack of the ball echoed, and Poll let out an exaggerated whistle as it soared across the course, landing near the green. “Show-off,” Poll muttered, grinning. “You’re lucky I’m such a good sport.” “Just admit I’m better,” Alan shot back, leaning on his club. The banter continued as they finished the first nine holes and parked the cart near the clubhouse for a quick break. They found a small outdoor table with a view of the course, and Alan stretched his legs, letting the breeze cool him down. Poll was in high spirits, gesturing wildly as he recounted a story about a disastrous flight he’d been on. “So, I’m sitting there,” Poll said, waving his iced tea for emphasis, “and the guy next to me starts sneezing. I’m thinking, great, I’m catching something. Then—” Poll’s hand clipped the edge of his glass, and the tea tipped forward in slow motion, splashing across the table and onto Alan’s lap. “Damn it!” Poll exclaimed, grabbing napkins. “Sorry, man. My bad.” Alan stood quickly, brushing at the cold, wet fabric. “It’s fine,” he said, chuckling lightly. “It’s just tea. No harm done.” “Still, let me—” Poll started, but Alan waved him off. Alan wiped at his pants, trying to make light of it. He wasn’t thrilled to be walking around with damp pants, but it wasn’t the end of the world. These things happened. Poll was about to let it go when he spotted Lisa walking toward them. She was carrying her tote bag, dressed in a breezy summer dress that looked effortless but undoubtedly wasn’t. She flashed them both a smile as she approached. “Hey, you two,” she said brightly. “Who’s winning?” “Don’t ask,” Poll muttered, grinning. “He’s wiping the floor with me.” Lisa laughed, her eyes shifting to Alan. She hesitated for just a fraction of a second, her smile fading slightly. “Alan, what happened?” “Poll got excited and spilled his tea,” Alan said, his tone light. “No big deal.” Lisa’s gaze dropped to his lap, lingering there a moment too long. “Are you sure it’s just tea?” she asked, her voice soft, concerned. Alan’s smile faltered. “Of course it’s tea,” he said, his tone sharpening. “What else would it be?” Lisa stepped closer, lowering her voice. “I’m just asking. I don’t want you to feel embarrassed if it’s… something else.” “It’s tea, Lisa,” Alan snapped, louder this time. “That’s it.” Poll shifted uncomfortably in his seat, feeling the tension rise like a storm cloud. He decided to step in. “Hey, she’s just looking out for you, man. No need to bite her head off.” Alan shot him a look, his jaw tightening. “I don’t need anyone looking out for me.” Lisa held up her hands in a gesture of surrender. “Okay,” she said softly. “I just wanted to check. That’s all.” Alan muttered something under his breath and walked toward the restroom, his chest tight with frustration. He didn’t even need to use the bathroom, but he needed to get away from the table, from Lisa’s quiet scrutiny and Poll’s awkward silence. Inside the cool, tiled bathroom, Alan leaned against the sink, staring at his reflection in the mirror. His face was flushed, his jaw clenched. The tea spill had been a harmless accident, but Lisa’s words clung to him like a second skin. “Are you sure it’s just tea?” she’d asked. What kind of question was that? Did she actually think he’d…? Alan shook his head, gripping the edge of the sink. He was healthy. He’d never had an issue like that in his life. The very idea was ridiculous. But the longer he stared at his reflection, the more the doubt crept in. Lisa wasn’t the type to overreact, he told himself. She was a nurse, trained to notice problems before they became serious. Maybe she saw something he didn’t. Maybe— Alan shook his head again, harder this time. No. There was nothing wrong. It was tea. That was it. He wasn’t going to let Lisa’s overactive imagination make him question himself. He straightened, splashed cold water on his face, and forced himself to take a deep breath. When he returned to the table, he plastered on a smile, ignoring the way Lisa’s eyes lingered on him as he sat down. The rest of the game passed in strained silence, the easy camaraderie of earlier completely gone. Alan tried to focus on his swing, on the feel of the club in his hands, but his mind kept drifting back to Lisa’s question and the nagging doubt it had left behind. *End of Flashback* His phone buzzed in his pocket, snapping him out of his thoughts. He pulled it out, glancing at the screen: no new messages. Just a phantom vibration, or maybe his own anxiety playing tricks on him. He shoved the phone back into his pocket, his jaw tightening. His mind drifted back to the golf course. He couldn’t seem to let it go. The moment had been so innocuous, so ordinary—Poll knocking over a glass, tea spilling onto his pants. A harmless accident. Yet somehow, Lisa had managed to turn it into something else entirely. Are you sure it’s just tea? The words played on a loop in his head, each repetition chipping away at his confidence. What had she meant by that? Did she really think he’d wet himself? The absurdity of it was almost laughable, but it didn’t feel funny. It felt invasive, like she’d reached into his mind and planted a thought he didn’t want to acknowledge. And then there was the way she’d looked at him—like she was trying to see past his words, to something hidden beneath the surface. It wasn’t concern; it was something sharper, more probing. Alan shifted in his seat, the stiff leather squeaking beneath him. He hated how much power that single moment seemed to hold over him now. The way Lisa had asked the question—softly, almost innocently—made him feel like denying it was a defense in itself. Like by saying, It’s just tea, he was confirming her suspicion. Why didn’t I just let it go? he thought. Maybe if he’d laughed it off instead of snapping at her, the moment wouldn’t be stuck in his head like this. Maybe she wouldn’t have looked at him like she knew something he didn’t. But that wasn’t it, was it? The moment wasn’t stuck because of how he’d reacted—it was stuck because of how she’d framed it. She’d made him question something he hadn’t even considered. She’d made him doubt himself. His jaw tightened as the memory burned in his mind. Was that her goal? Was she trying to get under his skin? Or worse… what if she was right? Yes, of course, she’s right. Why else would he be sitting here in the doctor’s office if there wasn’t something to it? Alan’s mind shifted to another moment, weeks after the golf course incident. The dinner party. He’d almost forgotten about it—pushed it out of his mind, really—but now, sitting in the waiting room, it came rushing back with startling clarity. *Flashback* It had been a posh evening, the kind Lisa loved to orchestrate. Their friends filled the house with laughter and conversation, wine glasses clinking, the warm aroma of roasted vegetables and garlic wafting from the kitchen. Alan had been in his element, chatting with Poll and a couple of others, feeling the buzz of good food and good company. “Alan,” Lisa had called from the kitchen, her voice light and cheerful. “Can you grab the wine from the fridge?” “On it,” he’d replied, heading into the kitchen with an easy stride. He liked helping out during these gatherings; it made him feel like he was part of the team, not just the host. He opened the fridge, his fingers wrapping around the chilled bottle. As he turned, his elbow caught the edge of a glass on the counter. The water spilled before he could catch it, splashing onto the front of his shirt and pants. “Damn it,” he muttered, grabbing a towel from the counter to dab at the wet spot. It wasn’t a big deal—the water would dry—but he still felt a pang of annoyance. He hated looking anything less than put-together, especially in front of their friends. Before he could finish drying off, Lisa appeared in the doorway, her brow furrowing as her gaze dropped to his pants. “What happened?” she asked, her tone concerned but with a trace of something else he couldn’t quite place. “Nothing,” Alan said, brushing it off. “I knocked over a glass. Just water.” Lisa stepped closer, her eyes fixed on the darkened patch of fabric. “Are you sure?” she asked, her voice soft, almost hesitant. Alan froze, the towel hovering over his shirt. “What do you mean, am I sure?” he asked, his irritation bubbling to the surface. “It’s water, Lisa. What else would it be?” “I just…” She hesitated, her eyes meeting his with a mix of pity and caution. “I just wanted to make sure. I don’t want you to feel ...” Alan snapped, his voice rising. “It’s water. That’s it.” Lisa’s expression softened, her lips curving into a small, apologetic smile. “Of course. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you upset.” “You didn’t upset me,” he muttered, turning back toward the living room. “I’m fine.” Lisa didn’t say anything as he walked away, but Alan could feel her gaze on his back, lingering like an unwanted touch. Alan’s jaw clenched as he walked back into the living room, his damp pants still clinging uncomfortably to his legs. He could feel the weight of his friends’ eyes on him as he approached the dining area. Conversations had continued, laughter still punctuating the air, but he was certain it had been quieter when he entered. Too quiet. Like they had been talking about him. “Everything okay, Alan?” Poll asked, his tone casual, but Alan swore there was something behind the words—a touch of concern or curiosity that made his skin prickle. “Fine,” Alan said quickly, waving a dismissive hand. “Just knocked over a glass.” He sat down in his chair, forcing a smile, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that their laughter and whispers weren’t as carefree as they’d been before. His gaze darted to the group across the table, who were leaning toward one another, their voices hushed. Were they glancing at him? No, they couldn’t be—but it felt like they were. Lisa appeared behind him, her hand resting lightly on his shoulder. “Alan,” she said softly, her voice pitched low so only he could hear, “why don’t you go upstairs and change? You’ll feel more comfortable.” “I’m fine,” he muttered, his jaw tight. “Alan,” she insisted, her fingers squeezing his shoulder gently. “You’ll feel better if you’re not sitting in wet pants. And… I don’t want anyone to get the wrong idea.” His head snapped toward her, his eyes narrowing. “The wrong idea? It’s water, Lisa. Everyone knows that.” “Of course they do,” she said quickly, her tone soothing, almost placating. “But you know how people can be. It’s better to avoid any… misunderstandings.” Alan felt a flash of heat rise to his cheeks—not from embarrassment, but from anger. Why was she making such a big deal out of this? Why was she making him feel like it was a big deal? Still, he couldn’t argue without drawing more attention. “Fine,” he said curtly, standing abruptly. He ignored the glance Poll shot him and made his way upstairs, his shoulders stiff with tension. *End of Flashback* He’d tried to forget about it after that, but the moment had stuck with him, festering in the back of his mind. Why had she asked if he was sure? Did she think he couldn’t tell the difference between water and something else? Or was it another one of those “concerns” she couldn’t seem to stop voicing lately? The more he thought about it, the angrier he felt. It wasn’t just the question—it was the way she’d asked it, like she was planting a seed of doubt and waiting to see if it would grow. And the worst part? It had grown. He couldn’t stop thinking about it, even now, weeks later. It gnawed at him, made him feel like he was being scrutinized in ways he didn’t fully understand. He hated how much control those moments seemed to have over him now. The golf course, the dinner party, even the damn laundry stain—it all felt connected somehow, like pieces of a puzzle he didn’t want to solve. Am I overthinking this? he wondered. Or is she really doing this on purpose? The clock on the wall ticked steadily, its rhythm blending with the hum of the air conditioning. Alan’s jaw clenched as the memories looped in his mind, each one heavier than the last. Why can’t I just let it go? But deep down, he knew why. It wasn’t just the moments themselves—it was the way they made him feel. Like he was losing control. Like the ground beneath his feet wasn’t as solid as it used to be. And that was what scared him the most. ____________________________________________________ To be continued ____________________________________________________

Hi everybody! As a long time lurker and even longer writer for my own enjoyment, I finally got the push to actually share something. It couldn't have been done without the help of some writer friends, /u/Sissybecky (r/abdlstories) who beta read and Clairanette (aka Clairacuddles on A03), talking to both of them for hours about writing. Check them out too! Scarlet is a young woman down on her luck. She has a broken heart, bank account, and sex life. Her luck finally seems to be changing when she is offered a job on the outher side of the country, and really has no option but to take it. But what she doesn't know about the city of Caulfield Valley may get her in trouble, like what her new boss, Emilia Kane, secretly does as a side hussle. a slowburn, long form lesbian fic that is very kinky and ABDL oriented. 1- so it feels real There is both terror and freedom in restarting your life. Not in a cosmic sense, but in the moving-across-the-country-and-leaving-everyone-you-knew-on-the-opposite-coast sense. That is where Scarlet found herself this morning. Eyes red from her jetlag, hair a mess from the uncomfortable seats, and a puffy-eyed death stare meeting her from the scratched bathroom mirror. Even with her fresh start, the fresh apartment, she was not ready for her first day at a new job in this new, unfamiliar city. She wanted to sleep. She wanted to forget. She wanted to go back to her home with—a pang of heartbreak through her chest interrupted the thought. That home was no longer there, and no one was waiting for her to come home. Instead, Scarlet let out a dejected sigh, opened the cardboard moving box that contained the toiletries that were not in her carry-on, and got in the shower. She was up far earlier than she realistically needed to be, to make sure she could wash her hair, shave her legs, and still have plenty of time for makeup and a relaxed cab ride to work. The pipes whined and hot water splashed her face as the new-ish utilities sprung to life. She focused on getting the sleep out of her eyes. She resented her own anxious, over-prepare-until-exhausted tendencies. Yet Scarlet knew that on mornings where she didn’t do this, she was late. It was part of why she’d lost her last position as a Library clerk. God, that feels like a lifetime ago. If I started taking those then…what if... Scarlet let the thought drift up with the steam, and focused on the rigorous maintenance that her curly, shoulder-length bob required. The rest of the shower went likewise. She would move on to some other form of self-grooming, only for another intrusive thought to appear, and she would do her best to let it roll off of her. By the time she was done, dripping into a towel and stepping out, she had gotten most of the self loathing scrubbed off. Scarlet turned to face the same mirror. She wiped the fogged glass with one pale hand, and the same dead-eyed look greeted her. Scarlet forced a smile, hollow but just enough to come across as courteous and eager, rather than like a retail worker who was dead inside. She had plenty of practice masking in this way. Her breakfast was a microwaved cup of coffee and protein bar, the leftovers from her flight. She’d have to go to the grocery after work. She ate just enough to then turn to her prescriptions, the small, resentful white triangles tasting bitter and frustrating, her knowing that it was a 50/50 on whether she would be vomiting before lunch. The three small blue estrogen pills had to melt sublingually, and wouldn’t upset her stomach. They did, however, taste like minty asshole as they dissolved under her tongue while she started her makeup routine. It went quickly, Scarlet’s old “professional” looks still in her head after years of rushed mornings where her mediocre nutrition and makeup routine battled for time. Her hands danced; brushing, patting, dabbing, blending, and setting at a quick but deliberate pace. This wasn’t Scarlet’s first time working places that made her tone down her looks and cover her smattering of artsy tattoos that criss crossed her arms. Her new boss had assured her however, that so long as she wore at least business casual and none of the tattoos visible were profane, no one would care. Simple enough to cover the guillotine on her shoulder blade or the shoddy stick and poke of her highschool bff’s band “The Fart Coffins” on the opposite blade. She only sometimes regretted that one out of any of the designs on her body. She finished with a modest amount of very neutral blush, and got up to dress in the outfit she had laid out the night before. A simple white blouse and black skirt, black tie, black flats. Should show a good first impression for a secretary of a legal office. She couldn’t help but roll the sleeves partially, however, showing hints and edges of her ink. Scarlet made sure her hair was dry, shook her head as a jolt of the last taste of estrogen left her mouth, and called for her cab. Just before leaving, she packed her purse, and heard an unfamiliar jingling at the bottom. Fishing through the myriad receipts, dust bunnies and half finished chapsticks, she finally found the culprit, and her heart dropped. A simple gold ring, with an inscription inside; Futile – the winds –/ To a Heart in port –The singular band was heavy in her hand, and Scarlet felt the heartbreak all over again. She wanted nothing more than to scream. She wanted to sob until her throat was hoarse, to wail in pain. She wanted to call her. Instead, she tenderly wiped the welling tear in one eye to preserve her mascara, roughly threw open the drawer to toss the precious bomb in with a clatter. The front door slammed and locked behind her. The cab hummed quietly as it rode down the dense city streets, and Scarlet focused on taking in the sites of tree leaves slowly changing color through the cab window. She was headed further downtown from her new apartment, and even still there were beautiful trees she wasn’t familiar with. This is exactly what I thought the East Coast to look like, and yet it’s even more beautiful than I could have imagined, she mused to herself. She was used to her hometown in the Bay, the palms and pines of the San Francisco and Oakland areas all she had made friends with until now. The trees were dotted in front of the tall downtown shops, looking like something out of a Norman Rockwell painting. She took a picture every now and again, killing time until her quiet cab driver pulled over to a sidewalk. Scarlet smoothed her skirt, handed the man his fare and a tip, and stepped out in front of a small office building. Her flats echoed against the shiny, reflective tile as she followed signs and elevator directories to Kane Arbitration & Mediation Legal Services. The interior of the elevator shined, polished enough that Scarlet could see her own reflection. She took a moment as she rode to the fourth floor, using the reflection to adjust her skirt. She was so tall that no matter what she wore, it always eventually turned into a skirt shorter than intended, and that was the last thing she wanted to project on her first day. Once the soft fabric was in place, better resting on her hips and covering much of her long thighs, she noticed she had arrived. Scarlet swallowed, her nerves making it louder than she had wanted, and exited as the doors parted. Kane Legal was one of the only offices on this floor, and it didn’t take her long to find, but she paused outside the door anyway. She took solace in the fact her new employer wouldn’t be able to see her through the doors frosted glass. Scarlet had a moment to steady the shaking in her hands. There’s nothing left for you back there. This has to work. You have no other option. The thought was supposed to be comforting. She opened the door and recalled all the times that thought would light a fire in her—to ignite the contrarian and spiteful nature she had to anyone that doubted her. A year ago, this would have made her unstoppable…but the last year was harder than she could have ever predicted. The reception area of the office was nicely decorated, looking like the kind you’d see on a mid-budget daytime law drama. No one was at the desk that she assumed would be hers, so she tried to peer around a corner leading to what she assumed would be Miss Kane’s proper office. Sure enough, a door at the end of the hall was open and revealed a head of deep black hair peaking just over the top of a large computer monitor. Scarlet took a moment for them to notice her. In another life, Scarlet would have confidently marched into the office, head held high, with enough swagger to convince anyone that she owned this office. Now the poor girl stood there, shivering as her future awaited. The Scarlet of a year ago would have left this newer Scarlet behind, just like the one she cared about the most. She prayed this wasn’t some kind of test. “Excuse me?” She called out, causing the head to twitch, “I’m looking for Miss Kane?” The top of the head rose for a pair of eyes to see just over the top, and then a hand brusquely slid the monitor on a pivoting stand out of the way. Scarlet recognized her now, the telltale hazel, almost golden eyes and a striking streak of platinum blonde to one side having stuck with her since their video interview. “And you have found her.” Her voice merrily sang, reverberating down the tiled hall. She stood. “You must be Ms. Finch. I am so glad to finally get you out here. May I be the first to properly welcome you to Caulfield Valley, I hope your flight was smooth?” Scarlet was immediately put off balance, having to look up at someone for once. Even if Emilia Kane hadn’t been in imposing black heels, she would easily have three inches on the six feet even Scarlet. She effortlessly glided down the hall towards Scarlet, her hand outstretched. Scarlet met her, returning her’s for a handshake. The taller woman’s hands were so soft. “Ah, t-thank you, Ma’am.” She politely smiled, and decided to rest her hands on the strap of her purse so as to not fidget. “I appreciate that, it was a long flight.” She wanted to divulge how exhausted and sore she was, but held back. “That is such a shame.” Emilia twisted her mouth into a concerned frown for a moment, a hand grabbing her chin in thought. “If you ever need to fly for me again, I can make sure you have better accommodations. Thankfully, your first day probably will not be too demanding. I am hoping to simply get you familiar with the way I organize best and have you operating at full speed before my next big meeting in…,” She checked the date on her phone, pulling it from the breast pocket of her dark green suit, “-three days. Does all that sound good?” Scarlet sighed in relief. “More than good, Ma’am, I’m sure I can be up to snuff by the end of the day.” She was a tiny bit surprised by how confident she sounded. “Oh please, Ma’am makes me feel old.” She waved a hand as if shooing the notion away, “I know to most it is respectful, but I prefer ‘Miss’ or just Emilia if it is all the same to you.” She rested the same hand now on her hips, which Scarlet noted were surprisingly accented in this type of suit. She nodded in response, and Emilia gestured for her to sit in the chair behind the receptionist desk. The woman looked like she was off a runway, the two piece suit and platinum jewelry complimenting her intense eyes and the vibrant streak of silver- no, platinum blonde in her hair. The hazel of her eyes became almost amber-gold as the light from the windows caught them. When her new employer wasn’t looking, she shook her head to erase the thoughts. Scarlet couldn’t exactly be thinking about how attractive her boss was if she didn’t want to risk her new living situation. “—and your last employer said you were familiar with all of these programs, is that right?” The question snapped Scarlet back to reality as Emilia motioned to the open windows of the computer. “That’s right. All of this is right in my wheelhouse.” Scarlet affirmed, grateful that the job didn’t seem to have any sudden surprises. “And this looks like a pretty standard inter-office set up on the phones as well. Would you prefer a call or a ping on your computer when you have a call or a client?” She hoped the question would help make her seem competent and ‘a go-getter,’ something her father had told her once upon a time about starting a new job. “A call is fine unless I am already with a client. If I do not respond, you may call regardless.” Emilia said, a small smile of approval spreading across her red lips. “On the topic of clients, occasionally you are to sit in for meetings and you will be taking notes. These are legal matters and meet the standard of attorney-client-privilege. So it is vitally important you understand that anything you hear or write down in those meetings are confidential, but could end up under scrutiny if we were ever to be sued or subpoenaed. Are you comfortable with that?” “I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t.” Scarlet nodded, “To be clear, any notes I take are private between you and I unless that happens right? Like—” she kicked herself for her valleygirl filler word, and tried to recover, “a doctor? For example, I wouldn’t talk about this with anyone except you or the client, even during off hours?” Scarlet couldn’t lie to herself and say that didn’t make her anxious. Her understanding of the legal system told her there were a million and one ways to mess up proceedings if everyone didn’t know them ahead of time. The clarity would help alleviate that anxiety. “Exactly. We can talk about it informally outside of the office but we must use discretion. God forbid you run into a client at a bar, make sure neither of you are shouting without realizing. However you got the most important part. Good job.” Something inside Scarlet warmed at her new boss’s approval. Emilia’s phone lit up and began ringing in her hand. She rolled her eyes. “I have to take this,” she explained, grabbing a small packet from the top drawer of the desk, “Just answer the phone if any calls come in and start filling this out with your info so I can make payments and records and such. It will only take a moment!” Emilia walked back up the hall, closing the door of her office. Scarlet could hear her talking in a tone that sounded professional and even, but couldn’t make out anything specific. When Scarlet realized she could not eavesdrop, no matter how hard she tried to focus, she instead grabbed a pen from the desk and focused on the forms. They were typical of starting with any new employer: tax info, new address, signing agreements. Scarlet was sorely missing the over-designed packets she would receive on her first day at each of the oversized chain stores she had grown up working at. The kind that tries to convince the reader that “we’re a family here,” isn’t the same as “your boss will not give a single shit about you if you think for yourself.” They were always a riot to laugh at with her fellow cashiers, clerks, and baristas. Everything was astonishingly professional, and felt tailored to the tiny law office. The forms were of course up to every standard Scarlet was aware of, but everything appeared handwritten and then copied from a master document. The young woman marveled at the curves and loops that seemed so practiced, so official. Calligraphy as a hobby? Scarlet’s daydream was broken as the phone rang. Her arm sprung to life, grabbing the phone and bringing it to her ear. “Hello, Legal Offices of Miss Kane, how can I help you?” Her mind auto piloted the greeting, a tactic she’d learned as a young adult to perform before any social anxiety made her hesitate to answer. There was a silent beat, broken only by soft background hum from the receiver. A deeper voice finally spoke. “Oh, is Miss Kane not in?” “I’m sorry, she’s stepped away for another call. I’m the new secretary.” The professional mask came back to her like a second skin, despite over a year of disuse. “Can I take a message for you?” Scarlet offered. “Er,” The voice stammered for a moment, then clarified, “Yeah. Actually, you can tell her that I have to back out of Friday’s meeting, I won’t be rescheduling. She can keep the deposit. Goodbye.” Scarlet busied herself scribbling the note down. “Wait, I’ll need to tell her your name.” She tried to catch the man before he disconnected. It was too late, the line went dead. Scarlet took a confused look at the receiver before returning it to the cradle. She tried to imagine what would have someone behaving this way, but even her previous customer support and retail work did not track here. Scarlet merely blinked in confusion and returned to filling her new employment forms. She could hear the muffled speech of her new boss, not able to pick distinct words, only cadence. The forms were dull and simple enough, and before too long Emilia’s office door clicked open. Scarlet was finishing the bottom lines of the last page, hoping quietly to impress the imposing woman, as childish as that want may be. Emilia’s heels marked her approach down the hall, and Scarlet spun gracefully in her swivel chair to face her. “Did I hear a call come in while I was gone?” “You did, and I've got a message,” Scarlet tried her best to sound professional yet nonchalant, “your Friday meeting canceled, said to keep his deposit.” She looked up to Emilia to gauge her superior’s reaction. Emilia gave nothing but a solitary eyebrow twitch. “He didn’t leave a name and hung up…is that normal?” “Whether it’s normal or not, we get to keep the deposit for my time, and that’s what matters to me.” Emilia said, too hurried to be as casual. Scarlet decided to just let that slip.There was something going on here, but she would catch the intricacies of the client relationships soon enough. Emilia very pointedly avoided her gaze to check the time, and excused herself again. The rest of the day moved slowly, save for asking Scarlet for a coffee run in the afternoon, which turned into buying a cafe scone for Scarlet’s lunch as well. She busied herself with memorizing the upcoming schedule, the program, and the routine expected of her. She tried not to fidget as the caffeine had its way with her later in the day. The bouncing of her leg coincided with an increase in worry. Would she have another reaction to this medication like her last, and be unable to sleep? Would Emilia be angry that she wasn’t being proactive in some way? How was she supposed to know? She paused, trying to stop ruminating. She lifted her hands away from the keyboard. They were shaking, and she squeezed her eyes closed. When Scarlet opened them, they focused through her fingers, at the sticky note she had written down the message, and the smaller coffee order beneath it. Sighing, she wrote down the coffee order on her phone and on her desktop notepad. If she could do nothing, she would be constructive and prepared for the future. Her hands kept shaking for the remainder of the shift. Scarlet wasn’t sure if it was the anxiety, the caffeine, or her meds. She’d been so isolated until moving she hadn’t noticed if the shaking started then. Just past five, Emilia’s heels clicked down the hall, a smart designer purse over one shoulder. “Now, is there anything I can clarify before we leave?” Her voice sang again and the hall reverberated in tune with her voice like Brian Eno was behind it. Scarlet shook her head, smiling with her mask back on as she spun to face Emilia again. “Thank you so much, but I don’t think I’ve got any questions yet.” Scarlet wanted to be sincere in thanking her, drop the facade and business-casual tone. Speaking without rehearsal tended to bite her in the ass lately. She squeezed her hands between her thighs to try and avoid any probing questions. Scarlet could only imagine suspicious and overbearing concern at best if her new boss thought there was something wrong with her medically. “Is there anything else I can help with? I’ve just been organizing your schedule and getting used to the layout in here all day.” She desperately wanted to get her groceries before it was too dark. “No thank you, Scarlet. You’ve already helped me enormously, you have no idea.” Emilia ushered Scarlet out the door, and locked it behind her. * * If one thing in the world could be counted on, it was chain stores being identical on the inside. Scarlet pushed an identically squeaky cart up identically packed aisles among indistinguishable brands. The only difference really seemed to be the accents. She approached bulk rice bags, hesitated, and drew out her phone with dread. Her meager bank account balance confirmed her fears, and she begrudgingly went for the generic. Other staples like cheap instant ramen and pasta followed suit. The sole splurge was the cheapest, sweetest, garbage brand of red wine she could find. Her cab ride was identical, save for the setting sun behind her. Purples and oranges and cotton-candy-clouds danced behind her, out of view, as she slowly sank her head against the cool glass of the window. At least the trees are still pretty. She raised her phone again to try and take a picture, but the camera went grainy in the growing dark. Her new apartment greeted her with the same lonely tone as when she first received the keys. It was cold, it was empty, the furnishings were bland and picked by the property management company. Nothing here was hers yet, save the stacked boxes of cardboard. Her tired arms carried the groceries to their appropriate resting places, and she cracked open the wine before settingling on the couch. Out of habit she reached for her remote, only to remember she didn’t have a TV yet. Sold for the moving expenses. Scarlet was so tired of sighing. She took a swig of wine, an old comfort that was basically a juicebox and rubbing alcohol that reminded her of being broke in college. She opened her phone, wishing for any stimulation. Her friends, (rather former friends) were still posting stories, still sharing their bad takes and inane jokes. She considered getting off the couch to do the same. It was all performative anyway, right? But the energy wouldn’t come when she called out for it. Another sip, and she swapped apps. Scarlet noticed the singular blink of darkness on her phone’s screen. “Please, you piece of shit. I really can’t afford you to die right now.” Her worries seemed unfounded, as the brilliant screen returned and the malfunction wasn’t replicated for the rest of the night. What was strange, however, were the kinds of new accounts she was being recommended as she scrolled her timeline. Now, Scarlet was no prude. She enjoyed fucking and her alone time as much as anyone. Estrogen and Progesterone even maybe had her hornier than the average. But her timeline wasn’t full of this much smut. She had friends in the sex work game, but she didn’t exactly like, share, favorite, reblog, or any other influencer verb their content. Another website breaking their algorithm again? Even if Dani did porn, she didn’t do this kind of porn. Morbid curiosity, and a slight increase in her pulse, beckoned Scarlet onward. Drawings, videos, and staged photos of women in things she’d only seen in racy HBO content. She didn’t even know what to call the more intricate…props…but felt herself linger on a clip of a woman riding a…pleasure machine plugged into the wall behind her. Scarlet’s face matched her namesake and she scrolled on. A woman sitting at a home office, the quintessential framing of every vlog you’ve ever watched. Finally somebody is fucking sane in this world. She clicked the video without even reading the caption, and the perky eyed labrador retriever of a woman began to speak. “Hi everybody! This is the Channel of O. SO!” The blonde clapped for emphasis. “You’re trying to learn about BDSM, and you have no idea where to start.” Scarlet’s eyes went wide, she took another sip, and watched the woman jumpcut and explain through terrible jokes. It was a trainwreck, steam engines exploding in her mind. It made her hot in the crotch. Scarlet finished her glass, finished the video, and poured herself another while going deeper to the woman’s personal channel. More videos, more introductory guides. Scarlet polished the second glass, and was too engrossed despite the initial impulse to cringe to even pour another. Her alarm rang to remind her to take the rest of her medication, pulling her out of her trance.How long had she been zoned out? It was eight thirty. Losing track of time like that wasn’t uncommon for her and this diversion was welcome. She resigned herself and went to go take another dose of bitter antidepressants and her dose of Progesterone. Once the poison was administered, she looked across her kitchen to the counter where she left her phone. It lay there, like a metal megalith, imposing despite being a little plastic rectangle. Scarlet had to gather her nerve just to walk across the room and lift the damn thing. Once it was back in her hand, she used shaking hands to unlock it. The Channel of O was still smiling up at her, and she felt her cheeks getting redder. Her glass of wine was forgotten as she brought her phone to her bedroom. She unboxed her duvet, and sat on the soft material as the video resumed. Scarlet was enthralled, soaking in every bit of knowledge she could. “There’s all kinds of different dynamics! You’re probably familiar with a ‘master/slave’ dynamic,” The blonde woman began, “but there’s also pets and owners, and even daddies, mommies,—” Scarlet’s pulse quickened,”—or more generically caregivers and littles! Sometimes that’s called ABDL if it involves diapers.” Scarlet felt her breath catch in her throat. Her fingers flew into a flurry, and a private internet search later, her phone was filled with images that made her heartbeat accelerate. Videos, drawings, and many, many depictions of adult women, with all their curves and freckles and other parts that excited Scarlet, in thick diapers. They ranged across all body types, and the infantile garb varied from plain white plastic to over the top patterns to evoke baby diapers. Scarlet continued to scroll, eyes wide in wonder and excitement. She finally stopped, a thumbnail capturing her attention like a punch to the gut and clicked the video. Scarlet’s mouth went wide, and felt herself starting to leak into her panties. A gorgeous, curvaceous woman was lying on her back, supple lips wrapped around the nipples of another woman, in nothing but a pastel colored diaper and delicate, lacy lingerie top. The tender moment evoked breastfeeding, save for the “mother” holding a massive vibrator against the woman’s…diaper. The “baby” of the couple was moaning, growing louder, and Scarlet felt a tent form under her skirt. Eventually, the “baby” was screaming, thrusting her hips into the massive sex toy, in time with cries of “Mommy!” Mommy’s smile was intoxicating. She was very clearly getting off just as much as her baby, her face painted a combination of maternal nurturing, hedonistic pleasure, ecstatic elation, and sadistic control as she began thrusting the enormous vibrator in time with her partner’s thrusts. It was obviously acting on the merit of pornography, but Scarlet couldn’t tear herself away. She allowed her hand to snake up to a nipple poking through her top. Scarlet realized her own arousal, and in embarrassment, closed the tab, flinging her phone to the edge of the bed like it was a dangerous spider. She flung the covers off, racing to the bathroom for a cold shower.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This will be a fairly short story, only a couple of parts and it will be TONS lighter than my other stories...at least I think so, I suppose you guys will be the ones to decide that. The concept is VERY loosely based on actual events and the title is straight up from this gif: In case anyone was wondering. Anyway, we have so much time and so little to do...strike that, reverse it. On with the story! One “Ending And Beginning” The music played softly in the background as she sat on her bed, hands folded on her lap as she looked down at them. She’d been trying to get the words to come out for the better part of five minutes now, and she knew that if she looked at him she’d be completely unable to say them altogether, so she focused on her hands, her slender fingers fidgeting and flitting over and between one another as her heart thumped in her chest. “Look, I know that whatever you have to tell me is bad, so just rip the band-aid and tell me already.” he said, his voice heavy with worry and concern for her. She breathed in deeply and exhaled sharply. “I cheated on you.” she blurted out. A song change accompanied the creak of the chair he was sitting on as he leaned back against it, his teeth running over his tongue as he started to speak but stopped as the gravity of the situation hit him. “When?” he asked numbly. She shook her head. “When I was on vacation with my family over the Summer.” she confessed. “My sister and I met some guys on the beach and-” she stopped, realizing that thinking about the event was exciting her and this wasn’t the time for that. “Why?” he asked, his voice quavering as though he were struggling not to cry. She wanted to look at him, to see if he were really about to cry, but kept looking at her hands as she shrugged. “I was away from you and someone else paid me attention the way you do.” she told him. He scoffed. “Attention?” he asked. “You fucked another guy behind my back because you weren’t getting attention from me while you were half a country away?!” his voice rose, the sadness from before abandoning his tone for outright anger. She wondered if he’d hit her, if maybe his anger would turn into forcefulness and dominance that would possibly give way to a bit of the roughness she’d found on the beach that night, her neck lightly bruised from the stranger choking her as he fucked her beneath the stars. “I’m not saying this is your fault or anything.” she told him. “You’re goddamned right this isn’t my fault!” he shouted, standing from his seat abruptly, the chair shooting backward into the wall behind with a loud thud. “We’re done.” he said. “I’m done with you.” he added as he went to the bedroom door and threw it open and stormed out of her house and out of her life. *****Several Years Later***** She scrolled through the photos and rolled her eyes. “Ooh, look at us, so happy.” she mockingly thought as she stopped on a picture of her ex and his new girlfriend at Disney World sharing a Mickey Mouse pretzel in front of the castle at the entrance of the park. Since they’d broken up she’d obsessed about him, her guilt over cheating on him making her believe that she could win him back in time if she could just show him what a mistake it was for them to be apart. She’d stalked his social media profiles and hated his new girlfriend from the moment she’d seen her. Maggie, the new girlfriend was, in her opinion, a stupid little girl that didn’t deserve to have such a wonderful boyfriend. She couldn’t see what the attraction was, Maggie was so short and slight where she was buxom and curvy, Maggie wore cute outfits that screamed “I’m a cute girl!” in bright colors where she was more subdued in her attire, leaning toward dark colors and things that painted her as an adult woman rather than a perpetual child. Even her hair was trying to represent her as a little girl, often in pigtails, the fiery red of it done up that way making her look like a little clown, where she would sometimes have her black hair in a loose ponytail but more often than not just let it drape over her shoulders in classic elegance. More pictures of the trip loaded as she scrolled, Maggie waving to him and the camera from her seat inside a Dumbo shaped ride cart, looking like an absolute idiot as she smiled widely. “Little bitch probably isn’t even tall enough to ride real rides.” she thought with a sadistic smirk. The next picture was Maggie with Winnie the Pooh, her happy smile and her denim shortalls making her look all the more like the overgrown child she appeared to desperately want to be. The last picture was him and Maggie on the tram, him taking a selfie of the two of them as she lay sleeping with his arm around her, hugging her to him. She stared at the picture, at the sleeping girl and his smile as he held her to him and she scoffed as her mind created a story to go along with the photo, one where Maggie had fallen asleep on the tram because she truly was nothing more than a little girl and had had such a big day in the park that she could barely keep her little eyes open for long enough to get on the tram back to the hotel. She imagined that he’d tried to wake her up when they’d arrived back at the hotel, but when she wouldn’t get up he’d simply picked her up and carried her, the mental image of her legs dangling sleepily behind him as she slept with her head on his shoulder, his strong hands supporting her denim clad bottom as they moved through the hotel. Her hand slipped down between her thighs as she imagined “bumping” into them as they got off the elevator, commenting to him how sweet he was to spend his vacation babysitting, hiding her smirk as little Maggie wet herself in her sleep, drenching his shirt with her accident. Her fantasy self had offered to help him clean up, leading him back to her room, which was right near the elevator, and he’d put aside his annoyance at Maggie’s accident to agree, following her into her room and dumping the brat onto the bed as she helped him strip his shirt off, kissing his neck softly and moving downward as she worked his belt and dropped his pants and boxers for him, smiling up at him from her new position in front of his growing hardness. The fantasy ended with him taking her from behind on the bed next to the pathetic little Maggie who had taken to sucking her thumb while she slept next to the adults. She pulled her wet fingers from between her thighs and slumped back in her chair with a contented sigh. “That was a weird little fantasy.” she thought absently as she wiped her hand clean with a nearby towel, looking at the picture of him and the sleeping Maggie on the tram. “But what if it wasn’t just a fantasy.” she wondered. Working for hours on her computer, she set up a rather ingenious trap for little Maggie, a message sent to her social media from a dummy account made to look authentic that, when opened, would give her a backdoor into the girl’s device, whether that was a computer or her phone, it didn’t really matter, she could do what she needed to with either. The account was made to look like a friend from school that wanted to reconnect, the kind of thing a little fool like Maggie wouldn’t think twice about opening up the moment she saw it, and by then her fate would be sealed. Later in the evening she got a notification that the message had been opened, first on the girl’s laptop and then on her phone, for some reason, giving her access to both without any issue. Waiting until the middle of the night, when she was sure Maggie would be asleep, she tapped into the girl’s computer and began setting everything up. She created a subfolder named “Nothing” within the “Program Files” folder inside the Windows folder to keep Maggie from accidentally stumbling on it and filled it with things she’d found when she searched for “Adult little girl”, finding it hard not to laugh when she saw pictures of grown women wearing little outfits not too dissimilar from Maggie’s chosen attire, some playing with toys on the floor, others sucking on pacifiers as they colored, but most with either visible diapers on beneath their clothes or naked save for a diaper or training panties. Further digging had sent her down a rabbit hole of stories about women being reduced to second infancy by their significant others, photos of grown women in highchairs and cribs drinking bottles with their thick diapers on full display. She made a bookmark folder on the girl’s browser with a chain of folders inside to make it look like it had been purposefully hidden by Maggie herself, and loaded it with the story and photo sites she’d found as well as several video sites that had shown her how not at all weird her earlier fantasy had been. With things set up, she turned off her computer and slipped into bed to fantasize about Maggie being discovered as the secret pervert she was by her boyfriend and, being the caring and compassionate man he was, he would devote himself to indulging the girl’s desires, turning her into a helpless baby and leaving him to be snatched up by his suddenly reappeared ex who would show him what a grown up woman could do for him. With a smile on her face and the milky afterglow of climax washing over her, she went to sleep eager to continue with her plan the following day. ********** The new day dawned with her sipping her coffee as she went to various sites related to Maggie’s newfound interests and began to build an online persona for the girl, who went by Baby Maggie, of course. She posted on a forum about how she wished her boyfriend would baby her, that she really wanted to wear thick diapers and have him take care of her like a good Daddy should. The onslaught of responses made her laugh, the sheer number of men offering to be her Daddy was actually surprising to her, and she took things a little further and did some roleplaying with a few of them just to make sure the evidence was good and damning. She tapped into the girl’s phone and set up a tracker so she could see where she was and made sure that there were videos saved in a hidden folder to illustrate that Baby Maggie wanted to be able to see these naughty things wherever she happened to be. With the groundwork laid, she stalked the girl’s social media and waited for an opening, like a romantic dinner with her boyfriend a few days later that she used the tracker to see the location of and arranged for a little run in with the happy couple to put herself back into his mind so that when everything started to fall into place she’d be fresh in his thoughts. She dressed up in her nicest dress, a lovely black number that made her ample cleavage impossible to ignore, and her heels that would leave her towering over the diminutive Maggie when they bumped into one another. She arranged for a date with some random guy she’d seen a few times, someone she could abandon without fear of argument, and waited for him to pick her up, linking her own phone with Maggie’s so she could mess with the girl while she was out. The restaurant was a classy place, too fancy for Maggie, she thought as she waited at the hostess station with her date, his hand groping her ass as he stood beside her. She remembered the last time she’d been with him, the secret trip to the restroom of the bar they were at, the way he’d forced her to her knees to service him as he gripped her throat, the smell of the restroom filling her nostrils as she took him into her mouth. She brushed the less than pleasant memory aside as the hostess grabbed their menus and led them through the restaurant, her phone showing that they were not far from the other couple, her looking around as they were seated bringing a smile to her face as she saw little Maggie in a sweet floral printed dress across the dining area, laughing at something her boyfriend had said and covering her mouth to be respectful to the other diners. When she saw him her heart skipped a beat. He was wearing a gray dress shirt with a deep purple tie, his beard trimmed short and his short afro perfectly formed to make him look so dapper and sexy, even more so when looking at his date. Maggie’s red hair was in a ponytail rather than her trademark pigtails, but her floral printed dress made her look like she was dressed for Easter egg hunting rather than a romantic meal with her boyfriend. She could see the girl’s legs swinging lazily beneath her chair, her chunky sandals abandoned on the floor bringing a smirk to her face. “What are you staring at?” her date asked as he turned to look where she was looking. She sighed and focused her attention on him. “Look, if you do something for me, I’ll make it well worth your while.” she told him, her own shoe slipping off as she stretched out her leg and touched her toes to the head of his manhood through his pants, feeling it stir and stiffen instantly. He swallowed hard. “What do you want?” he asked. ********** “I thought that was you!” she declared happily as she neared the other couple’s table with her date in tow. He looked up from his meal, his eyes going wide in surprise when he saw her. “Hey, Melanie!” he said in forced politeness. He cleared his throat, “Maggie, this is Melanie, we were friends in high school.” he told Maggie. “Melanie, this is my girlfriend, Maggie.” he said, finishing the introduction. Maggie smiled up at Melanie from her seat. “Nice to meet you, Melanie.” she chirped politely as she extended her arm to shake the girl’s hand. Melanie took the smaller girl’s hand in hers and shook it, marveling at just how petite the girl was in person. “It’s lovely to meet you too, Maggie!” she cooed in syrupy sweet mock sincerity. Her date cleared his throat. “Oh, where are my manners, this is Gabe, my boyfriend.” Melanie said as she released Maggie’s hand and gestured to her date. “Gabe, this is Derrick and Maggie.” she said. “Derrick and I dated in high school.” she added. Maggie looked to her boyfriend. “Dated, huh?” she asked. Derrick nodded. “That’s right, I’d forgotten that we’d actually dated.” he said. Melanie hid her anger at his attitude toward their relationship and turned back to Maggie. “We won’t take up anymore of your time, I just wanted to pop by and say hi to a familiar face.” she explained. They all said their polite goodbyes and Melanie and Gabe departed, her feeling good about the encounter and him looking forward to collecting on his reward for going along with whatever had just happened. ********** Using her access to Maggie’s computer, Melanie tapped into the girl’s bank account and checked out her spending and savings habits over the year, figuring out where she could set aside money to allow her to do some shopping for Baby Maggie. Creating a program that would siphon untraceable amounts of money into a holding space every time Maggie money was added to the girl’s account, she went to work creating wish lists on various sites for adorable diapers and baby clothes, using the girl’s shopping histories on clothing websites to ensure that she got the right sizes for everything. With her plans regarding Maggie up and running, she set her sights on Derrick, reaching out to him on his social media with a simple message, “Hey, Derrick, I wanted to just say that I hope I wasn’t intruding the other day when I ran into you, it just isn’t often that I bump into old friends at random and I guess I just wasn’t thinking. Maggie is really cute and I’m happy that you’re happy.”. She sent the message off and decided to take a break from her computer to think more about her eventual takeover of Derrick’s heart. She imagined Derrick coming home to find all the packages she’d ordered in Maggie’s name, setting them aside for her until she got home and then when she opened them up and found perfectly sized baby clothes and diapers, that she would swear up and down she hadn’t ordered despite all evidence to the contrary, Derrick would assume she was playing a game and insist that she put the items to good use. She imagined him messaging her and confiding in her everything that was going on with Maggie, inviting her over when she pretended not to believe him and then she’d arrive and see Baby Maggie on the floor in her bulky diaper and precious baby clothes and seduce him in front of her, the poor thing crying as she watched the last vestige of her adult life choose a real woman instead of a helpless little baby. The fantasy made her wonder absently if she herself wasn’t secretly into girls in diapers, at least from a domination and humiliation standpoint, but she banished the thought away as her phone alerted her that she’d received a message. “Mel, no worries, you weren’t intruding, it was good to see you again and with someone that makes you happy.” he’d written. She sent him a friend request after a few hours had gone by, just so she didn’t look too eager, and smiled when she got the notification that he’d accepted. “We’ll be together soon, my love.” she thought as she plugged in her phone for the night and slipped off to sleep thinking about all the fun she was going to have with poor, defenseless Maggie in the very near future. To Be Continued...